


Points Make Prizes

by wyestmsiylmys



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bit sad, F/M, Nosey Alana is nosey, Secrets, Snooping, mischa - Freeform, teddy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:06:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyestmsiylmys/pseuds/wyestmsiylmys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"During these evenings, Alana developed a game- one she was sure Hannibal didn’t even know she was playing. The rules were simple enough: every dinner she would find some hidden gem in the parlour, or the dining room, or the study or the kitchen once she was finally trusted enough to pass that particular threshold. And the challenge was simply to discover the story behind whatever treasure she’d chosen."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Points Make Prizes

 

There was no denying the grandeur of Hannibal Lecter’s home. Even if you wanted to try it would be an impossible and fruitless task.

 

The first time Alana Bloom had visited had been when he was her mentor and had been unable to arrange a meeting during office hours. There had been a sudden change in schedule, or some other irksome clerical adjustments that had resulted in very little time where they would both be free for an adequate meeting. Communication errors, an incompetent assistant (Richard, he didn’t last long) and a family emergency and before either of them really realised it they hadn’t spoken properly in over a month.

 

One final failed attempt and Hannibal had decided that was the last straw. Enough was enough and he fired Richard immediately and called her himself. _If you want a job done right...._

 

Thinking back, she could still remember the conversation like it was yesterday and not a lifetime ago.

 

“I fear I have been a terrible mentor of late, Miss Bloom,” he had said, “I hope you’ll join me at my home this Friday evening for dinner. We can discuss your remarkable performance of late, and perhaps I can find an adequate way to seek your forgiveness for mine.” There had been a slight pause there, “I’ve been told I’m a wonderful cook.” Truth be told, Alana hadn’t know what to be more excited about: the fact that Dr. Lecter wanted her for dinner.... Or that he called her _remarkable._

Visiting Dr. Lecter’s home for the first time was every bit as intimidating as she had imagined and she had found herself grateful that she’d decided to splurge (it wasn’t every day Dr. Hannibal Lecter invited you to dinner) on a dress that cost more than she’d been happy to be spend on a dress and not a small car (okay _slight_ exaggeration) at the time.

 

Now, however, it was worth every cent; even if she would be living off ramen noodles for a month.

 

After having her offer of assistance politely declined, Alana was left to wait in the dining room while waiting for the doctor to plate up the dish and took the chance to explore the room a little and trying to avoid the little comparisons with her own small apartment. God, she was pretty sure she’d left dishes in the sink from that morning where as Dr. Lecter’s home was divine. From the stunning opulence of the building itself to the little details he’d acquired over the years: the paintings that were probably worth thousands, the plants most of which Alana couldn’t name, and books. Jesus he’s book collection, of which she only caught a glimpse through an open door they’d passed, had made her a little weak at the knee. Better still, there was no doubt in her mind that there were more, scattered around his house or in his office-that one she knew. She grew hungry discover everything there was to find in Dr. Lecter’s home.

 

The food was served (delicious), wine flowed (a little too easily), and the conversation was easy and enjoyable. They’d started with their official business (basically she was fucking awesome), progressed to family (her brother had been involved in a major traffic accident but seemed to be doing better now, thankfully), and before long they were in Dr. Lecter’s study, discussing art and literature and he was handing her a Brandy she knew she shouldn’t accept.

 

She took it anyway.

 

“I can see you’re curious about something Miss Bloom,” he told her taking his own seat beside her and in front of the fire, “I can practically hear the wheels turning in your mind.” The blush was immediate, most likely helped by the alcohol they’d both consumed, although you wouldn’t know it to look at him.  
“I was just admiring your sketch there,” she confessed nodding towards a framed drawing across the room, noting the family signature at the bottom, “it’s beautiful.”  
“That she is,” He agreed, “The Basilica Di Santa Maria del Fiore,” he hadn’t even glanced across to remind himself of which sketch they were talking about, “she’s been witness to celebration, to births and vows as well as hidden horrors. The murder of Giuliano del Medici in 1478, commencing the great Pazzi Conspiracy as well as the great monster of Florence Damiano Lupo who was rumoured to have hidden within her walls for nine days, avoiding the authorities after murdering young girls and selling jewellery and trinkets created from the hair, skin and bone of his victims.”

 

They weren’t exactly pleasant stories but still Alana couldn’t finding it within her to be disgusted or horrified, instead told him in an almost dreamy tone how she’d never been but love to see it in person. He’d offered her a small smile and said only two words,  
“you will.”

 

The following month, despite having maintained a more than satisfactory communication between mentor and mentee now that the unnecessary complication of Richard had been removed, Alana received a phone call from the doctor inviting her to dinner again.

 

It quickly became a monthly event between the two of them (occasionally more so) and something Alana very much looked forward to and somewhere along the way- and Alana couldn’t say when- _Dr. Lecter_ became _Hannibal._

During these evenings, Alana developed a game- one she was sure Hannibal didn’t even know she was playing. The rules were simple enough: every dinner she would find some hidden gem in the parlour, or the dining room, or the study or the kitchen once she was finally trusted enough to pass that particular threshold. And the challenge was simply to discover the story behind whatever treasure she’d chosen.

 

Sometimes she got a small history lesson, such as that of her first meal here; The Basilica di Santa aria del Fiore. Which was fine, it was always interesting and there seemed to be no end to his knowledge. But it wasn’t what she really wanted and Hannibal got points.

 

But sometimes, _sometimes_ he’d offer what she began to crave and give her a glimpse into himself and a story from his past, like with the samurai armour she’d stumbled across a few months ago. Although not an exact match it bore a striking similarity to the amour worn by the ancestors of his Aunt Murasaki, with whom he’d lived throughout his adolescence in Paris.

 

Oh, she got a lot of points for that one, and even gave herself ten more when he served a traditional Japanese meal the next month.

 

The game lasted for years, although the score was long forgotten it became almost like a mission to discover and savour these little insights. The closer they became, the more rooms in his house were open to exploration, the more treasures to find and the more stories to uncover.

 

They’d been sleeping together for a short while now, Will was in Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane and there were two healing scars on her lover she didn’t need to question. She knew that story all too well.

 

Huffing, Alana rolled over in bed to face him, since everything with Matthew Brown she’d been struggling to sleep. In all the years she’d known him, Hannibal had never seemed so... human. Thinking on it now, Alana was sure she’d been looking at him with a child’s eyes, but he was _Hannibal_ surely he had some invincible armour. A suit he’d done at night to protect him from all dangers.

 

Clearly, she was wrong.

 

He, however, seemed to be doing exceptionally well—especially for a man who’d almost lost his life a few short weeks ago. A few days off, a couple of meetings with the mysterious Dr. Du Murier and he seemed... fine. Understanding, even, as if it wasn’t a _friend_ who’d tried to orchestrate his murder.

 

He was a better person than she.

 

After a minute Alana gave up and, careful not to disturb him, rolled out of the bed, shrugging into Hannibal’s shirt. It was far too big for her small frame, but it smelt of him which provided her with a comfort like no other. It was painfully cliché but she loved it.

 

Plodding along the hall a door caught her eye, left slightly ajar, her curiosity peaked. She’d always had a nosey streak ( _professional curiosity_ she liked to call it _inability to keep her nose out_ her sister would counter) and that night was no different. It looked just like any other guestroom in the house; tastefully decorated, of course, in Hannibal’s unique and immaculate style.

 

Except...

 

The gaze immediately fell on it, there in the corner on the dresser. The last thing Alana ever expected to find in the house of Doctor Hannibal Lecter.

 

There, staring back at her with its glass eyes was a small, very cute, very old, very tired but clearly very loved teddy bear.

 

 

She couldn’t even remember crossing the dark room, but there she was; at the dresser, bear in hand.

 

It was a little below average in size, a dark brown, almost grey colour and looked like it had seen better days although judging by its presumed age and the assumption that it had travelled with the man sleeping in the next room was in remarkable condition. All in all; the toy was nothing special. Except that it was, it was the single most important teddy bear Alana had ever held in her hands.

 

And as the aunt of five (and another on the way) she considered herself something of an expert in toys.

 

Her gaze was instantly drawn to the bear’s foot, where a single initial lay in discoloured thread. _M._

 

This was clearly not a part of the bears original design (didn’t need to be Will Graham to figure that one out, she thought pointedly ignoring the bitter tone to her thoughts) and she knew somehow who exactly was behind the needlework. Regardless of time, Hannibal’s precision lingered in the careful embroidery, although with it lay a childish unsteadiness and brought to mind the image of a young Hannibal Lecter, hunched over this teddy, fringe falling in his eyes, tongue out in concentrating wanting... needing this single letter to be perfect.

 

But who was _M_?

 

Mother? Maybe.... But she didn’t think so. Besides, he was Lithuanian.

 

_What was Mother in Lithuanian anyway?_

 

Light flooded the room and, in shock, Alana almost dropped the bear, but thanking every God she could think of that she didn’t and _M’s_ bear remained safe and undamaged, she flashed him a sheepish smile. “Hey,” she began, suddenly nervous at being caught snooping, and held up the bear- no point pretending that it wasn’t there. “I like this.” He remained silent, and her voice seemed too loud in the quiet.

 

She blinked and he was by her side- Jesus, she hadn’t even heard him move, still saying nothing Hannibal plucked the bear from her hand before setting carefully back in its place. “Who’s _M_?” She heard her own voice ask before she could stop it. _Ooh, that was not your brightest of ideas Alana, just leave things well alone._ Maybe her sister was right and she just couldn’t keep her nose out.

 

Hannibal was still- Hannibal was _always_ still and careful when choosing exactly which cards to show but he was clearly battling here. “My sister,” he admitted after a long pause- long enough that Alana was convinced he just wasn’t going to say anything. He cleared his throat, and swallowed hard as if the answer was physically difficult to say. “Mischa.”

 

She’d never seen him like this before. This vulnerable, hurting this openly; even when she saw him with a rope around his neck, both wrists open and bleeding, it almost scared her. She didn’t know what to do, even with all her years of training and practice. “I didn’t know you had a sister,” she whispered looking up at his eyes but Hannibal wasn’t look at her. No, his attention was firmly on the bear.

 

On his sister’s bear.

 

On Mischa’s bear.

 

Although Alana didn’t think he actually saw it, he wasn’t there right now, he was gone. Somewhere in the past, probably with her. She had a bad feeling, “I don’t, not anymore.”

 

Oh God.

 

What bought on the confession she had no idea, Hannibal rarely spoke about things so personal, even to her and this was probably worth countless points- off the charts, but the game had gone too far. She’d snooped too deeply and in her efforts to win a game Hannibal wasn’t even playing she’d torn open old wounds and now here he was, holding a teddy bear, looking like a lost little boy. God, she wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight. Stroke his hair and whisper that it was okay, she was there and he wasn’t alone. He didn’t have to be alone anymore.

But just like that, he was back with her. Walls up, faraway look gone, back a little straighter, “was there something you wanted, Alana?” he asked politely, ever the perfect host.  
“I erm,” it took her a minute to catch up, still haunted by the look in his eye not ten seconds ago. How had he snapped out of it so easily? “Oh, I was just going to get some water.” His hand was on the small of her back carefully guiding her out of the room as he pressed a small kiss to the crown of her head, not angry, not anything anymore. “Go back to bed Mano Meilé. I will get us some.” He promised closing the door behind them, as if nothing had happened.

 

And had it? Alana wasn’t even sure what had just happened between them, she took hold of his hand, tightly in hers, “Hannibal... You can talk to me. You know that, I’m here for you.” He nodded once, offering her a small, tight smile that didn’t come close to meeting his eyes,  
“there is nothing to add. Go back to bed,” he kissed her again; forehead this time, and went to get their water. She was tempted to return to the room, and look at the bear again, but instead did as she was told and shuffled back to Hannibal’s bedroom. She just couldn’t shake the image of his face from her mind. At first, she’d been worried he’d be mad at her for snooping, they’d only had one real argument in the ten years she’d known him (bickering, sure. Disagreements of course, but rarely actual arguments) and it was _not_ an experience she was in a rush to repeat. But instead he just looked... sad.

 

She’d never seen him look sad like that before and there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t help him if he didn’t let her in. What could she do?

 

***

Somehow she’d managed to put the bear out of her mind and it wasn’t until months later that she was reminded of it. Months pain, of physical therapy of... not anger. She’d never really felt angry at him, more disappointed in everything than angry. She’d let Jack and Will have the anger, she sat back and just felt sad.

 

Months after ‘That Night’ as it had been referred to during the countless interviews and very few conversations she’d had about it. ‘That Night’ where Hannibal stopped being her lover, her mentor, her best friend and became ‘The Chesapeake Ripper’.

 

Jack had asked her to look over some evidence from his house. He had a theory and needed someone to try and find something from the seemingly endless pile of boxes taken from ‘That Night’. She didn’t want to.

 

She really, didn’t want to but what other choice was there. With Jack Crawford it was his way or... Well, his way, it had always been the same with him. So now, she was stuck in this miserable room stuck looking at the things she just wanted to forget about. The stories she’s learnt flooding back to the forefront of her mind as she scanned the extensive directory of evidence from his home. A written log of everything relevant or not; they hadn’t wanted to take any chances and kept _everything._

 

Her gaze scanned down the names of various paintings and sketches, of books and instruments; both musical and... and medical, when the image of a small, old, loved bear came to her mind. Her lips quirked as she wondered the reaction of whoever was tasked with bagging that particular item.

 

She read the list again.

 

Wait, hang on a minute.

 

“You okay?” Zeller asked as she scanned the directory a third time, a forth.

 

It wasn’t there.

 

Not on any of the pages, the only thing missing, the only thing he’d taken from his life as Hannibal Lecter. The only thing he couldn’t live without.

 

Micsha’s bear.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a Hannibal kink meme thing where someone (I chose Alana, as you can tell) found out Hannibal had a secret Teddy bear. I don't know it's probably not what the post had in mind, but I tried. 
> 
> I've also misplaced the link to the actual prompt because I'm just that good, so hopefully I'll find it, or hopefully someone will read this and go "hang on, I requested this yonks ago" but I'll keep looking just in case they don't. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think, it's been a while (a long while) since I've written anything and I'm not sure... I'm just not sure. I wrote it a few weeks ago, maybe a month, and just edited it spur or the moment and it's dead late haha. It's unbetaed just the 2am look over so I aplogise for any mistakes. 
> 
> I hope you like it and it's okay.
> 
> Thanks xxx


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